Julian Turnbull

Fled from a continuously and inconveniently collapsing Empire to teach History across the world. With only slightly better outcomes.

Now a Dalton le Dale Parish Councillor, famed for talking utter rubbish. At length. But I get drains and potholes repaired, and in a truly insignificant way I get to squeak truth to power.

Village dogs and children like me, but cats just sneer at me contemptuously and flick their tails in annoyance.

My curries are renowned, as are my chutneys, jams and pickles (apart from one instance of exploding jars of Mango Pickle that inexplicably fermented. Throughout the village).

Least said, soonest mended, and no-one was hurt, thank heavens.

Unfairly banned from making and distributing hooch to their husbands by the Fascist Women's Institute, who ganged up on me. Even my wife (the She Dragon) of 50 years was part of this dastardly conspiracy.

"A prophet is honoured everywhere except in his own hometown and among his relatives and his own family." (Mark 6)